


Basorexia

by silverfoxflower



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: Geralt had kissed Jaskier just the once, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 176





	Basorexia

**Author's Note:**

> **basorexia (n.)** \- the overwhelming desire to kiss

Geralt had kissed Jaskier just the once, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. 

It had hardly even been a kiss, more a desperate, clumsy press of his mouth against Jaskier’s, because the idiot bard had stumbled into a tangle of cursed thorns, which made him shudder, grow cold and still. Because Geralt had panicked, and the only thing ringing through his mind was _true love’s kiss_ , though it was a foolish rumor told to young Witcher candidates in jest, and never had been confirmed to break a single curse. Because there was no one else around. Because Jaskier’s breaths were growing shallow and pained. Because there had been no other choice. 

With Jaskier’s head rolling in the crook of his elbow, Geralt had gripped the line of his jaw and sealed their mouths together with little romance or finesse, his only focus on breathing warm life back into Jaskier’s body. Their teeth had clashed. It was an awkward angle, for their lips and noses. Jaskier had been limp and insensible through it, long enough for Geralt’s heart to begin to sink painfully. 

Until Jaskier suddenly began shuddering. Geralt had pulled back quickly, gasping in relief as Jaskier’s body was wracked with coughs. At least he was breathing. At least he _lived_. 

Perhaps that was it. Geralt couldn’t stop thinking of the kiss because it was indelibly linked to that one, fraught moment. Somewhere along their travels, as Geralt’s attempts to thwart Jaskier’s companionship became weaker and weaker and eventually ceased, the bard had come to … matter to him deeply. And his near-death had been distressing.

If Geralt could rewrite the script within his head, link the action to something much more mundane, maybe …

Maybe he could stop his eyes from drifting to the pink of Jaskier’s lips whenever he was in the vicinity. 

–

They were camping on the shores of the Nimnar, a cheerful fire casting flickering shadows across the rocky beach around them.

Jaskier was plucking at his lute, practicing his new song. Every few minutes he would pause and scrunch up his face in concentration, looking into middle distance. Sometimes he would mutter to himself, and, devastatingly, chew at his lower lip. 

Geralt was polishing his sword, earnestly trying to keep his concentration where it _belonged_ (after Vesemir’s teachings, he kept it sharp enough that a single slip could mean his finger, or his hand), but. Every few seconds his eyes flicked up, unbidden. Distracted by the white flash of Jaskier’s teeth sinking into his pink bottom lip, worrying it red and swollen. 

Fuck.

Geralt set aside his sword with a scrape and Jaskier glanced over, curious. 

“Am I distracting you from your arduous, important weapons maintenance? _”_ Jaskier asked lightly, his fingers tapping on the honeyed wood of his lute. Geralt didn’t think he’d noticed Geralt’s new preoccupation. At least, he hadn’t addressed it directly. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said haltingly, then stopped.

Jaskier said nothing, blinking at Geralt with uncharacteristic patience. 

Geralt leaned forward on his knees and rubbed at his forehead, annoyed at his own awkwardness. It was a simple request, and for all they’ve shared together over the years, it should be a trivial one. 

“Jaskier,” he repeated finally. “… you kiss your friends.” 

“I …” Jaskier’s mouth opened and closed. 

“To greet them,” Geralt added, “I’ve seen it. In Oxenfurt.” 

(Jaskier flocking among other brightly-clothed academics, his expression painfully bright as he fell into tight, open-hearted hugs, cupped their faces between his palms and kissed them on their mouths one after the other. 

That time, Geralt had not expected Jaskier to follow him out of Oxenfurt, had expected him to decide that that was where he finally belonged, moreso, anyway, than with the unforgiving, tedious dreck of a Witcher’s Path.)

“Sure,” Jaskier said quizzically. “Why … why are we talking about this now?” His expression turned teasing. “Don’t tell me _you_ want to be greeted-” 

“Yes,” Geralt said, relieved that he didn’t have to make the request himself. “Next time we have reason to. Just the once should be fine.” Satisfied, he moved to draw the sword back onto his lap. 

Jaskier looked … shocked. “May I ask _why_ , all of a sudden?” 

“Is that a no?” Geralt frowned at the sudden feeling of distress which filled him.

He hadn’t believed that Jaskier would think much of it, since he spread his affections everywhere as thickly, as easily as butter over warm bread. But it was true that Jaskier had never attempted this with Geralt. There might be any number of reasons why, not the least being Geralt’s obvious … witcheriness. 

“Forget it, then,” Geralt said brusquely, applying his sudden frustration to wiping his rag over his blade. 

Suddenly, Jaskier was near, crouching just an armspan away, his eyes bright in the firelight. “No, no … I mean _yes_. I don’t have any problem with it! Just wanted to know why, I guess, but if you’re going to be all _hush hush_ about it …” he carded his fingers through his hair, his eyes falling to Geralt’s lap.

His attention brought to the dangerous implement laying between them, Geralt carefully put it to the side again and turned to Jaskier. 

“It’s still a yes,” Jaskier said quietly, and Geralt’s eyes fell, again, to the soft shape his mouth made around those words. 

“Good,” Geralt said, his voice sounding husky to his ears. 

“Just …” Jaskier swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, and Geralt felt his fingers clench into fists at his sides. “Does it have to be the next time we meet each other? Why don’t we … I mean, _now_?” 

There was a r _eason_ , right, that Geralt wanted to link kissing Jaskier to something trite, something mundane, something like striding into town covered with swamp slime and Jaskier making a face before placing a cautious peck on Geralt’s offered lips. 

But here, with Jaskier drifting close, his gaze falling to Geralt’s mouth, then flicking up to meet his eyes. Here, with the snap of the fire quiet behind them, in the soft yellow light. 

All those _reasons_ escaped Geralt’s head as he folded his fingers around Jaskier’s forearms, drawing Jaskier to him. Geralt’s eyes slid closed as he felt Jaskier’s hands carefully frame his face, guiding their faces together until not even a soft breath lay between them. 

This time, Jaskier’s lips were warm. Pliant. As plush as they had always looked, and slightly moist from his worrying of them all night. He smelled of lavender and rosewater. The silk of his doublet felt slippery under Geralt’s hand as he slid it up to cup the back of Jaskier’s head. 

This time, Jaskier’s shuddered breath was needy. _Wanting._

When they pulled away, both were breathing heavily, and Geralt knew that he made a mistake. Though the kiss had been chaste … it was anything but mundane. 

And he would be thinking about it for a long, long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](https://greyduckgreygoose.tumblr.com/tagged/myfic)


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